The Finish
by RieWiggles
Summary: 17 Years after escaping Room 302, Henry and Eileen have moved city to city to avoid Walter Sullivan's persistent ghost. After their disappearance, their daughter Cyndy embarks a search. Meanwhile, a FBI agent named Dennis Connor investigates a long investigation on the Order, reopening the Walter Sullivan case in the process.
1. Time Warp

"_Guess I'll have to find a new place to live, huh?."_

The drive was short, but felt like eternity. Eileen stared out the window, with the bouquet of flowers in her hands. She turned her head to the man who saved her life. She always felt secure with Henry. However, this time, she felt like they were going back to a trap.

On the third floor, Eileen's parents greeted the duo with another bouquet and hugs. The mask that Henry and Eileen put on while explaining, in the most real of details of what happened, almost seemed to crack. Henry turned to open the door to his apartment. Once opening, his heart dropped. He turned to Eileen, who automatically understood his signal.

"Mommy, is it alright if we could stay with you and Daddy tonight?" she asked, as Henry closed his door.

"Don't be silly! I'm sure he won't come back to hurt you," her mother replied, after turning the knob of the locked door. Problem was, her room looked the same as the time of her attack. A blood stain covered the floor as well as caution tape.

"I'm so sorry, honey," the older woman replied.

"We have Eileen's old bedroom still open."

* * *

The half-day drive didn't shake the nightmare and trauma that both Henry and Eileen had been through. They didn't dare to pick up any belongings. Henry was concerned if he even set foot into his apartment, he surely would be locked again, despite it looked normal once he opened that door. Eileen couldn't get the scene of the attack out of her head.

Henry's sedan rolled behind her parents' as it pulled up into the driveway. Her parents lived in a nice small suburb in the middle of a city in West Virginia. Eileen made her way up the steps to the second floor, to her bedroom. Her mother offered a beverage, to which Henry politely declined.

"Her room is the second door to the left."

Henry made his way into a very bright, pink room full of stuffed animals. _This is Eileen's alright, _he thought to himself. She had a cushioned queen sized bed resembling the same one in room 303 firmly located next to the window outside. The man took a seat, before removing his long buttoned shirt. Eileen then made her way into the room.

"My father is the same size as you. Feel free to pick any of these old shirts he plans on getting rid of."

Eileen placed the clothing onto her bed, before reaching into her drawer. After pulling spare clothing out, she turned to the man behind her.

"Bathroom, please."

"Are we going to talk about what happened?"

Henry sat on the toilet seat, fully clothed, sweating profusely as Eileen stood, shaken, in the shower. The bathroom was steamed to the ceiling. She was afraid that blood was going to pour out of the faucet.

"I'm just… I'm just not ready," she replied.

He sighed. He didn't sound argumentative, but he was just worried.

"Come in, Henry. I'm still afraid something's going to happen."

"Are you absolutely comfortable about this?"

Eileen sat on one of the seats in the stall.

"If I was able to go through a waking nightmare of corpses and flesh with you, I'm comfortable to share a shower."

Her voice wasn't condescending. It wasn't sarcastic. It was soft, depressed. The young man proceeded to walk into the stall, unclothed, before taking the seat at the opposite end. He covered his nudity with his arm, before looking down.

There was silence for awhile. Eileen then stood up.

"Let's wash your hair," she said, softly, before reaching her right hand out.

While the shower seemed platonic, all kinds of tension was clearly there. On the other hand, both of them felt remotely safe with each other. Upon getting out of the stall, Henry aided Eileen into putting her clothes back on. She buckled his jeans as he put his shirt on. Neither knew this would become a habit for years to come.

Eileen grabbed a stuffed cat and made a spot next to the end of the bed. Henry crawled to the window.

"Are you ready to talk?" Eileen asked, sheepishly.

"About the nightmare or…"

"..." An awkward silence filled the room.

"I'm sorry. I'm not good with words," Henry replied.

"I guess I'm not either. It just seems like… since this whole thing… We're inseparable."

"Mm." Henry was beginning to drift.

"Do you want to talk about this tomorrow?"

He shook awake a bit. After a few "no's" Eileen turned towards him. She clutched her stuffed cat.

"Thank you for keeping me safe, Henry."

In the moonlight, her face looked as soft as silk.

"Thank you for keeping me sane," he said, sheepishly.

She knew that cuddling up to him would break a bit of the tension that they both had. While words weren't spoken, the body language was all that mattered. Henry wrapped his arms around Eileen's body, keeping her safe once more.

* * *

Months Later

* * *

In front of the lens of a camera stood a brown haired maiden donned in a beautiful white dress. Her back was turned. Her hair looked like it was just styled. The setting was a gorgeous park full of magnolia trees and a pond with a bridge.

"Look at the camera!" a male voice called, slightly muffled.

Eileen turned around, visibly having a bump on her stomach.

"So what is it?"

Eileen hesitated with a smile.

"Henry, give me that," she said, smacking her lips.

"Not until you say what it is."

She sighed, rolled her eyes, before crossing her arms.

"Your friends are waiting to know!"

"And you're going to cost us a fortune by making these personalized videos to send!"

"No, I already got the picture. This is just for your parents."

Eileen busted out laughing. His remark was just awkward… just the way she liked it.

"We're having a girl."

* * *

Five years later

* * *

"Happy birthday, dear Cyndy! Happy birthday to you!"

The front of the lens of a camera was a young girl, just turning five years old. Next to her was Eileen, staring up at the camera.

"Blow out the candles, Cyndy!"

"Henry, put the camera on the table and get on the other side!"

Henry placed the camera down, as Eileen's father soon picked it up after.

"Little Cyndy, how old are you today?"

"Five!" the girl said, rather disinterested.

When the party was over, Cyndy sat out in the backyard, in the sandbox. None of her cousins were her age. She was lonely, sad that she didn't have a friend like her.

Suddenly, a young, blond-haired boy approached the young, brown-haired girl. Her green eyes looked up to his blue irises.

"You look sad," the boy said.

"I am. I don't have any friends, and none of my cousins are my age," she replied.

"I could be your friend!" the boy in the striped sweater replied, happily.

From inside the kitchen, Eileen could hear Cyndy laughing and playing. When she looked out the window, it was just her. She was playing by herself in the sandbox.

* * *

A few months later

* * *

"Hey, honey, what are you drawing?" Henry asked, before sitting in the chair next to Cyndy's. She was scribbling a drawing with just crayons.

"Me and my friend, Sully," she replied.

"Sully, huh?" he said, sounding interested. "Like the monster Sully?"

"He's not a monster, Daddy!" she said, almost sarcastically.

Henry looked at her picture. His heart dropped.

Sully was wearing a striped sweater.

_A blue and striped sweater._

"Cyndy…" he said, worriedly.

"We have to go somewhere, Cyndy," he said, frantically, before picking the girl up.

"Where are we going?" she asked, as he made is way to the foyer.

"Eileen!" he called, as the woman came downstairs.

"What are you doing?" she replied, as she hit the last step.

"We need to get out of here."

"What?" she asked, following him, in the rain, as he soakedly placed Cyndy into her booster seat. She was struggling to get her arm into her jacket pocket.

"Do you know about Cyndy's imaginary friend?" he asked, condescendingly, as he closed the door.

"No, she usually doesn't tell me about him."

"Neither did she… until just now."

"What do you mean?" she asked worriedly.

"... Sully, Eileen. Walter. She has an imaginary friend who is Walter."

Eileen gasped, as she frantically made her way into the passenger seat. Henry pulled out of the driveway, at a faster speed than legal.

"Slow down, Henry!" Eileen said, worriedly.

Cyndy looked out the window, before screaming.

Sully stood in the road, but when they got too far, he appeared back at the bumper again, as the car kept going. When he got too far again, he appeared at the bumper… again. And again. And again.

"Watch out!" Eileen screamed.

Henry blared his horn.

"MISS CYNDY TOWNSHEND!"

The horn stopped as Cyndy quickly propped herself up from the desk. Mr. Offerman was not happy with her. He pulled a small notepad from his desk, before scribbling on it.

"Detention for sleeping in my class, young lady!"

He slammed the detention slip before her. The bell rang. She rubbed her eyes, before reluctantly packing her bag. She groaned to herself as she left the classroom.

* * *

"Hey, assholes," Cyndy called out to the group sitting underneath the bleachers. They were out in the track field.

"Where's my cig?"

"We got you, Townshend," a spiked goth by the name of Jillian called before her. He handed her a cigarette.

She sat next to a teenager who was her best friend. Abby was much smaller than Cyndy, contrasting her with very pale skin, a slim, oval-shaped face, She had small, closed-set brown eyes, complete with thick black eyeliner and mascara, a slim, roman-shaped nose, which donned a septum ring, and thin lips covered in black lipstick. She had dyed black hair, which was cut herself, evident by the very short bangs that rose almost to her hair line, while the rest of her hair fell down to her shoulders. She donned a rose flower band around her head, a black maxi dress, black flip flops, and a dark purple sheer shawl. Abby was slim, with the heroin-chic body type. Cyndy, on the other hand, was a bit taller and slightly heavier, with thick brown hair, a heart face shape, complete with green eyes and a face resembling her father. Cyndy donned her father's buttoned shirt, with a metal band shirt, ripped at the arms, but tied at the bottom, and a pair of baggy jeans. She donned converse high-tops.

"Hey, beautiful," Abby said with a smile, before planting a kiss on Cyndy's cheek. She slightly blushed in return.

"Whoa, we got another LGBT couple to rally for today?" another friend of theirs called. They all smiled.

"I mean, after that whole shit with the principal, with the mean shit he said, that protest after school ought to get him fired."

"Wish I could go," Cyndy said, grumpily. "But Dick-her-Offman gave me detention."

The whole group groaned.

"Aw, Cyndy, sleeping in second period again?"

"Sweetie," Abby said, softly.

"_I'm concerned with you sleeping a lot lately._"

"Pshht- I'm fine!" Cyndy replied, rather confidently.

Abby was not impressed.

"I sense a lot of negative energy from you, today," the goth girl replied.

"Well, maybe your chakras are off," Townshend barked back.

Abby paused for a moment.

"... I'm serious. Something doesn't feel right"

"Maybe it's the kush you smoked last night. I told you, don't get it from Kurt again!" Jillian called back.

* * *

The bell for fourth period rang. Cyndy took a seat at her desk, as Mr. Trent began roll call. Suddenly, after pulling her science book and notebook from her bag, Cyndy felt a vibration from the buttoned shirt.

She pulled her phone out, before her heart dropped.

The text read:

_**JACK B. NIMBLE. JACK B. QUICK. JACK B. FINISHING 21 SACRAMENTS.**_

"MISS TOWNSHEND!"

Mr. Trent bent his hand and gave the "come hither" motion to Cyndy. She groaned, before handing her phone to the teacher. He gave a whiff.

"You smell like cigarettes today," he said, irritated.

"And you smell like a Thai hooker's muff." she replied.

The class howled with laughter.

"And for that, you won't see your phone for a week."

Cyndy groaned again.

"Are you fucking serious?"

"A mouth like that gives it two weeks. You're lucky I like your humor, or else you'd be down to the principal's office today."

He put the phone in his desk, before looking back up to her.

"And I bet you don't want to miss your civil rights parade."

* * *

As there was shouting coming from the front, followed by chanting, Cyndy was confined to her desk, scribbling nothings into her notebook. About half into detention, Abby came through the door, before sitting down next to her best friend.

"Abby, why are you here in this prison?" Townshend said, sarcastically.

"It was just shitty what happened. You deserve to be out there."

Abby scooched her desk closer in, before being caught by the security guard. She slowly moved it back, before crossing her legs.

"Are you still coming home with me and my Mom?"

"Isn't your Mom condemning me for being gay?"

"She's devoted to her religion, yes, but she's not crazy," Abby replied, in a whisper.

* * *

"When the righteous cry for help, the Lord hears, and rescues them from all their troubles."

Abby and Cyndy spent the ride home listening to a cheap podcast of bible study. Abby groaned.

"Oh, hush, darling, you may need this when the lord condemns you for your wicked ways."

"And I condemn you to leaving me alone," Abby replied.

Once they made their way through the door, Abby and Cyndy instantly ran up into the room of safety. The room of freedom. Abby's room was one with peace… or to the two "wicked" girls, that is. Abby turned on "Every day is Exactly the Same" before she pulled out a bud from one of her prescription bottles. The girls shared it, They laid on the floor, cuddled up to each other, as they got lost in the void of teenage angst. The hanging crystals from the ceiling really had Cyndy feeling at peace. Abby, on the other hand, still felt that negative aura.

"Babe, you should really call your parents and let them know you got here alright."

Cyndy got irritated.

"Fine! Just one phone call! But my Dad knows I'm alright!"

Abby got up to her feet.

"I'm just worried, that's all!"

Cyndy groaned, before taking Abby's phone. She dialed her father's number.

_It beeped as if it was disconnected._

She tried her mother's phone.

_It beeped as if it was disconnected._

She tried both numbers again.

Same thing.

Again.

Same.

They both began to panic. They ran downstairs, frantically asking Abby's mother to just drive past the Townshend home.

* * *

The house was surrounded by neighbors and police cars. Abby and Cyndy ran out of the car, up to the caution tape. In front of them was the sheriff, who happily waved for the girls to come through.

"Sheriff Schroder!" Cindy called.

"What's going on? Where are my parents?"

He looked down, before looking at Abby. She got even more worried. The house was covered with red symbols, and a blood trail tracing from inside the home.

"Your parents are missing. It may be a possible homicide."

Cyndy didn't hear herself mutter a "what" out of her lips.

"Cyndy, where were you? I need to clear your alibi," Sheriff Schroder followed with.

Schroder was an older man, well into his forties. He always had faith to the two young girls, and looked at them as his own daughters.

"She was with me! She had detention after school and my Mom picked us up right after. She has security camera confirming we were there!" Abby replied.

"Do you know how long this has been?"

"Not sure. Neighbors called in for a commotion at three in the afternoon. We assumed a domestic dispute but your parents are far from the type to do that."

"_Cindy, if you know anything, please tell me."_

Cyndy tried really hard to compose herself. Abby kept her hands on Townshend's shoulder, comforting her in every way possible.

"I got a weird text on my phone, but Mr. Trent confiscated it during fourth period. It should be in his desk."

With authorization from the security guard, they were escorted to classroom 118, where Sheriff Schroder retrieved the U-Phone. Cyndy tried to turn it back on with no luck.

"Battery's dead!" she said, panicked.

"I have my battery with me," Abby said, softly, before pulling out a charger from her purse. When they plugged the phone in, Abby quickly turned it on. Once it loaded, there was not that one message, but multiple messages. Each one was threatening or appeared threatening, and the number was unknown. The last message, which was sent right when the phone loaded, was a video.

The three turned it on. It was Eileen.

She was in a purple dress.

She was being maimed, stabbed, pounced, just mutilated right before their eyes.

"Mom!" Cyndy called over and over again, as Schroder brought the video to his hands. She placed her hands over her mouth, sliding down the vent that she leaned against.

Schroder pulled out his walkie talkie, before sending a signal.

"Bringing Miss Townshend and Miss Zirkowski to the station. Need tech support to track a location of Miss Townshend's phone. Miss Galvin-Townshend is believed to be in danger, or possibly deceased. Over."

Both the sheriff and Abby slowly escorted Cyndy out. As they made it to the entrance, a new text appeared.

"_**Room 302. South Ashfield Heights.**_

_**W.S."**_


	2. A Pair of Eyes

"I've got it traced."

Sheriff Schroder handed coordinates to Cyndy. She and Abby were sitting on the steps just outside the station doors. The night was warm, perhaps cozy. Abby held the shaken teenager's hand.

"South Ashfield Heights is north of here. You both can sit in the back seat. I've got word that the FBI are also involved on the case."

"Does it have to do with the Walter Sullivan case?" Abby asked.

Sheriff Shroder sighed.

"I'm afraid so."

The girls stood up. He pulled the keys for his cruiser out of his shirt pocket. Abby didn't let go of Cyndy's hand.

"You know I believe in terrible spirits, right?" he asked.

"Considering the case involving the missing man that I had done years ago."

"We know," Abby replied, solemnly.

The girls got into the car. He made a call to dispatch that he and the girls were making way to South Ashfield Heights and to let their local police department know.

* * *

"Walter Sullivan case has been declared as back open. I'm currently outside Room 303 at South Ashfield Heights."

"Ok. I love you too."

Dennis Connor was a handsome man at best. Behind his charming pronounced cheekbones, slick black hair, and neatly-tied tie, Agent Connor was a perfect fit for the FBI. For years he studied the supernatural occurrences that tied with the Order. Never had he expected that the case of Walter Sullivan would reopen… years after his death.

He first inspected the door to Room 302, before turning the knob. It wasn't locked, but something seemed to have held the door shut. He nudged, budged, but no opening whatsoever. Not giving up, he moved on back to room 303, where the 20th victim and disappeared Eileen Galvin had lived. The crime scene from over 16 years prior had remained. The blood had seeped into the flooring, with a black hue. Evidence remained labeled. Frank Sunderland had not sold room 303 since the two victims of the 21 Sacraments made their escape That was primarily due to the investigation never having been closed, and evidence never been cleaned to permiss him to do new superintendent, however, had made it clear to Agent Connor that the room will be remodeled soon for new tenants.

Agent Connor slowly made his way to the bedroom, where stuffed animals were about, dusted, and untouched. Next to the wardrobe was a hole in the wall. Agent Connor bent down, peeping into what was Room 302.

There was a pair of eyes staring at him.

He instantly stood up, startled. The young agent repositioned his tie before leaving the apartment room. He took out his notebook, before scribbling some notes.

* * *

"Agent Connor."

"You're Sheriff Schroder, I presume?"

The two men exchanged a handshake.

"With me are two young ladies. One of which is the daughter of the two who had disappeared. We have a video of being brutally attacked."

Agent Connor inspected the phone, before shaking his head.

"That same dress is part of the evidence. This video must have been back when she was initially first attacked."

"May I come in to view the apartment?"

"Door is open."

Agent Connor escorted the three into the living room. Cyndy noticed the black blood stains on the floor. She bent down to the purple dress that was covered in dried blood.

"So that video is sixteen years old?"

"I'm afraid so, Miss Townshend."

Cyndy stood up, before making her way towards the bedroom. The creaks of her footsteps echoed through the dead-silent apartment. When she entered the bedroom, she instantly recognized a hole in the wall.

She bent forward to look to the other side.

"I can see the living room into the hallway!" she called out, urging the other three to enter the bedroom.

What was odd was that the living room of the apartment was rusted, perhaps bloodied. Just as Cyndy was about to look away, she noticed something that made the hairs on her back rise.

There was a pair of shoes that began to print onto the floor, leaving a trail of blood.

"Oh my god!" she called, jumping back into Abby. Schroder instantly had an idea.

* * *

The group tried to dig the pickaxe into the wall. It seemed like no progress was being made. Drywall fell on the floor, but the hole got no bigger. Agent Connor found this to be very odd.

"It seems like the room does not want us to enter," he said, rather confused.

Connor pulled out his notebook, before inspecting the pages. He pulled Sheriff Schroder aside as Cyndy and Abby kept digging. When they reached the living room, he urged the sheriff closer.

"We may have to find the superindendent. My records show a lot based on the attacks regarding Room 302. This missing people have been involved in an attempted homicide."

"The Walter Sullivan case, am I correct?"

"Precisely so."

He proceeded to reach into his satchel again, before pulling out another notebook.

"This is the case that I have spent my whole career on. It's based on a religious cult that came from the town of Silent Hill. 'The Order' is the same regime that brainwashed the serial killer Walter Sullivan, and it may be possible that they have others doing their biddings, or copycats of Sullivan."

"Do you think the Order is involved with the disappearance of the Townshends?"

"Possibly so."

Agent Cooper placed his notebooks onto the table, before taking a seat. Sheriff Schroder called the two girls into the room.

"It may be possible that Walter Sullivan's parents were directly involved with The Order. We may need to find their last location."

"And you believe the Superintendent may know?"

"He at least has their names. At the time of Mrs. Townshend's attempted murder, the Superintendent at the time was named Frank Sunderland. If he's alive, let's start with him."

* * *

A young man in a wife beater answered the door to room 105. He didn't seem like the Superintendent type, nor did he seem like a nice young man.

"Agent Connor, FBI," Dennis began.

"Sheriff Schroder, Gettysburg Police Department. We're inspecting a case involving Rooms 302 and 303 and request some information from you."

The young man scoffed.

"And who gave you access to the building?"

"A couple of concerned residents," replied Connor.

"We request the location of the last Superintendent of this building, Mr. Frank Sunderland. Would you happen to know the location?"

Cyndy inspected the young man behind the door. He had a shaved head, complete with obscene tattoos. It was obvious that he was chewing tobacco.

"I ain't got the information, 'officers,' but as far as I know my Pa might," the young man said, before eyeing the two girls. He gave them both a creepy smile. Cindy squeezed Abby's hand.

"These two young, beautiful ladies officers, too?"

Schroder gave a look of disgust.

"These are teenage girls, Sir. You have no business knowing theirs. We want information to contact your father and we'll be on our way," Agent Connor replied, in a professional yet demanding tone.

The man groaned. He pulled a notepad from his right, before scribbling a name and phone number. As he handed the papers back, he winked towards the two girls' direction.

* * *

"Thank you. We will check there."

The city of South Ashfield was full of life. People walked, talked, played, just enjoyed the simplistic sunny day as the September air seeped in through the windows. Floating in the sky was an interesting Robbie the Rabbit balloon, which circled as it flew in the atmosphere. The black sedan soon pulled up to South Ashfield Nursing Home. The building was nicely built, with two wings, and a lovely porch that led to the receptionist area.

"Agent Connor, FBI. This is Sheriff Schroder of Gettysburg Police Department. We're here in request to speak to a Mr. Frank Sunderland," Dennis said, professionally. The receptionist almost hesitated, but led the group down the clean corridors to room 206. She implored the working nurse to let the group into the room.

A very old man lay in a wheelchair, looking to the flat screen located to the end of the room. He seemed to still talk, as he cheered at the sight of Clint Eastwood as he pulled his revolver behind screen. He turned his head as the door closed.

"Sorry to bother you, Mr. Sunderland. I am Agent Connor, FBI," he said, softly.

"Sheriff Schroder of Gettysburg Police Department," followed Schroder.

"Why, yes, come on in," Frank said, making them welcome. He urged the group to take a seat on the couch next to his bed.

"Is there a reason why you're both here today?" he said, solemnly, almost worriedly.

"As a matter of fact, yes," replied Dennis, in a stern, yet professional voice. He chose to stand.

"Is this in regards to my son?" he asked again, almost sadly.

"I'm afraid not, Sir. I'm sorry if something happened to your son, but that's not why we're here." Dennis circled around the room, inspecting Frank's belongings. He flicked a few knic-knacs, before noticing a box. The back of his hairs spoke to him.

"We heard that over 17 years ago, you were the Superintendent of South Ashfield Heights."

"I was, yes," Frank said, confused.

"We're here opening the investigation of the disappearance of two of your former tenants, Mr. Henry Townshend and Eileen Galvin-Townshend. Seated on the couch is Miss Cyndy Townshend, their distressed daughter." He pointed to the brunette, who shyly waved. Frank waved back.

"They're missing?" he said, even more solemnly.

"We believe it has to do with the attempted homicide case involving Mrs. Townshend, and involving a copycat of the serial killer Walter Sullivan."

Frank looked down.

"Mr. Sunderland, we request any logs you may have of any tenants before that homicide, possibly the parents of Mr. Sullivan. We wish to speak to them regarding another case that may be connected," called Connor.

Frank paused for a moment, before turning his wheelchair towards the window. He gave a good thought for the moment. Then he proceeded to turn around, and reach into a drawer, before he pulled out notebook after notebook. He checked the dates, before confirming one that was right.

"Room 302 was owned by a Mrs. Beth and Charles Sullivan during their son's birth. I don't know anything about where to find them, but it's been years, and we have computers," Frank said, before handing the notebook to Agent Connor.

"You might be able to find one of them."  
"Thank you Mr. Sunderland," Agent Connor said before turning around.

"Before you leave," Frank then called, right after Sheriff Schroder led the two teenagers out.

"Please find those two. I'm worried about them."

* * *

"Mrs. Beth Sullivan of South Ashfield," Sheriff Schroder called to himself as he placed the name into a search engine. One result popped up, with the name "Bethany Rosemary, aged 80."

The location required payment. That was, until Agent Connor got to work.

"Bethany Rosemary, located in Cleveland, Ohio," Connor called, triumphantly.

"It's going to be a long ride. We might want to stock up."

* * *

While Schroder was not allowed to, he still allowed Cyndy to pack some clothing. Soon after, they made a trip to Abby's home, where her mother seemed disapproved into letting her come. She persisted, however. As they fought, as Abby packed some stylish clothing to drag along in a satchel, Connor inspected the small notebook. His eyes traced through the contact information of both Walter's parents, before he got curious of another object. He pulled out the very same box that he saw in Frank's nursing room. He almost seemed hesitant to open it, but his curiosity ate the life out of him.

Dennis opened the box.

Inside was an unbilical cord.

Suddenly, Connor's head started to hurt, with odd visions eating into his brain. He held one hand against his temples, while the other hit the horn of his wheel. He quickly closed the box, before collecting himself from the unbearable pain. He panted, heavily. Deep breaths allowed Connor to calm down. He attempted to slick his black hair, now messy, back behind his head, before his blue irises looked up past his windshield. In front of his car was a small child, with blond hair, and a blue and white striped sweater.

It felt like eternity. He stared through the child's ghostly eyes, before he heard a voice calling his name.

"Agent Connor!" Schroder called, as he ran up to the car. Connor quickly stuffed the box back into his satchel.

"Is everything alright? I heard the horn," the sheriff asked him.

"Fine… Fine." Connor replied. He looked back to the same spot. The child was gone.

The two girls made their way to the car, before getting into the back seats. Schroder sensed something off about Dennis Connor.


	3. Just Another Hole in the Wall

An old woman answered the door to her run-down Cleveland home. Agent Connor presented his bage, as Sheriff Schroder followed behind.

"Hello, are you Ms. Rosemary?"

"I am, yes." her old, southern accent sounded sweet.

"Agent Connor, FBI. This is Sheriff Schroder of Gettysburg Police Department. Would you mind answering a few questions for us, Ms. Rosemary?"

"Yes, yes, come in!" the old, frail woman called behind, before opening the door. The two girls followed behind.

"Why are there two young ladies here?"

"One of the cases involves this young lady," Connor replied, placing a hand on Cyndy's shoulder.

The old woman allowed the group to sit in her living room. It was almost hoarded, with various things scattered about every inch that was storage.

"Before we start, would you like tea? Coffee? Anything?" the old lady asked.

Both declined.

"We're here to talk about an extraordinary case, Ms. Rosemary. Please answer these questions and answer honestly. Your input may help this young girl find her missing parents."

The old woman looked to Cyndy. Her eyes were filled with worry. Beth nodded, before replying, "Yes, sir."

"First thing's first, are you married?"

"I was, yes."

"From what time?"

"Roughly fifteen years. From the time I was twenty-two to the time I turned thirty-seven."

Connor began to scribble in his notebook. Schroder followed suit, in the meantime, inching through her facial features to determine truth or lie.

"Now Ms. Rosemary, was your last name perhaps, Sullivan?"

Beth was easily uncomfortable. She hesitantly answered.

"Yes. I was married to Charles Sullivan. Bastard he was."

"Would you care to elaborate?" Connor asked, before crossing his legs.

She gave it a moment of thought.

"Charles was quite the charmer… at the beginning. By the time I married him, he had finished medical school. He opened a practice, and after the death of a patient, had his medical license taken away."

"Where was his practice, ma'am?"

"South Ashfield, from what I remember."

Cyndy began to feel uncomfortable. Schroder saw her signals. Abby placed a hand on her shoulder.

"Ms. Rosemary. From my records from the investigation point out, you abandoned your infant son at an apartment building back in 1967. Please answer honestly, what prompted this to happen?"

She seemed visibly shaken, but took a deep breath.

"I'm very sorry." she said.

"Take your time," Sheriff Schroder replied.

During that time, Connor got up from his seat. He began to inspect the little objects in the room. He still has his notebook open and pen ready.

"Charles was an abusive man. He only cared about himself. There was a warrant out for his arrest following his practice being shut down and his license taken away. I wanted to take Walter… I truly did."

She began to tear up a bit.

"I saw the news of what happened there. I know what my son turned out to be."

"I'm very sorry," Connor replied. He continued to write, until he looked up. He looked inside a snowglobe. He saw something distinct… in the reflection.

He saw the same young boy.

"Where is Charles Sullivan?"

Beth sniffed.

"Dead. They found him here, threw him in jail. During that time I was taken to a women's home… filed papers to divorce. Since then I've lived here."

"Did you have a plan to bring Walter back?"  
She paused for a moment.

"I tried to. Because I abandoned him, I couldn't get him back. They had already taken him to that goddamn orphanage… I know my baby was abused."

Her voice cracked.

"I know he was."

Connor continued to scribble. He felt the presence of the boy in the room. Cyndy did as well. She began to look around, until she saw him… standing behind the seat where Beth sat.

"Ms. Rosemary, was your husband involved with any church… in any way?"

She looked up at him. Her green eyes were glossed.

"Of course not. He was a Christian, but he wasn't good enough to find Jesus."

Connor nodded. Sheriff Schroder got up from the seat, noticing that Cyndy was looking rather horrified. Connor continued to look behind the snowglobe, as the boy stared directly at him. At the same time, the boy stared directly at Cindy, who sat roughly forty-five angles the other direction.

"That is all for today," Agent Connor stammered. He placed his notebook back into his satchel, before urging his group to follow him to the door.

"Your stay is awfully short," Beth said, softly.

"Are you sure you don't want anything?"

"I've got all I needed," Connor said, with a smile. The rest of the group made their way to the car.

"Have a lovely day, ma'am."

* * *

"You need to return that snowglobe!" Cyndy called to Dennis, who had both his feet up at the dashboard, looking into the contents of the object.

"I will when I give her an update on the case."

"That isn't how this works!" Abby then barked.

"Please, girls, calm down." Schroder turned to the back.

"Cyndy… what did you see in there?'

The girl was suddenly baffled over the question. She sunk in her seat.

"You saw him, didn't you?" Connor asked, before turning around.

"Saw what?" Abby asked.

Cyndy crossed her arms. She slumped back.

"Nothing."

"Something horrified you," Schroder said, calmly. Her green irises turned back to the Sheriff.

"I did see him," she answered.

"Who?" asked Abby.

"The boy. The boy in the striped sweater," Connor replied. He continued to play with the globe.

"My report has pictures of the boy. It's believed to be Walter… but he's dead."

"Or so the reports say," Schroder replied.

"Maybe his child?" chimed Abby.

"Doubt it. The man never married. Never had romantic relations with anyone as far as anyone knows," replied Connor.

"Then what else could it be?" asked Cyndy. She was confused where this was going.

Schroder eyed Connor.

"You're not telling us something."

"I'm telling you all that I know."

Schroder rubbed his nose.

"Do you… believe in the paranormal, Connor?"

Cyndy looked to the FBI agent. Abby looked down.

"Are you implying that perhaps the boy is a spirit?"

* * *

The two-bed motel room was as worn down as the slums of Cleveland. The group compiled notes of the Sullivan case, and the case of the Order. Connor did a lot of explaining, and with Cyndy's knowledge of what her parents went through, their theories were out there, but not too far from their experiences. Suddenly, Connor got a dispatch report from his radio.

"Calling FBI to -static.- Homicide investigation, calling FBI." it called. A woman's voice was on the radio. Cyndy automatically had a bad feeling.

"Victim is an elderly woman. Name by Beth Rosemary. 80. Calling all FBI agents in the area."

The group got up and quickly dashed out the door.

* * *

"Stay in here," Connor ordered, as he and Schroder emerged from the black sedan. They made their way up to the scene.

"Agent Connor, FBI," he called, presenting his badge.

"Sheriff Schroder, Gettysburg Police Department."

"He's with me," Connor said, as the tape was lifted. The two authorities made their way into the home, while the corpse of the old woman lay dormant on the ground, in front of the chair she sat in.

"How long has the victim been deceased?" asked Connor.

"Time of death estimated at 3:15 P.M."

Right after they had left.

Connor asked for a pair of gloves, before he requested the help of the on-scene officer to flip the body. It was in the process of Rigor Mortis. Connor noticed stab wounds all over her back.

"Help me undress the back of her," Connor urged.

When he and Schroder did so, they didn't expect what they saw.

"20/21" was carved into her back.

They both took a picture.

"These were the same markings on Mrs. Townshend the time of her attack," Connor whispered, as he let go of the body.

"I think I understand what's going on here."

Connor took off his gloves, before leaving the home. Schroder followed behind. The Cleveland Sheriff demanded an explanation.

"A report will be sent to your department in a day or two," Connor replied, as he and Schroder made their way to the car.

"We may be looking at a Copycat Homicide, and someone who may have been tied to Ms. Rosemary."

"Sir, if it may help, a neighbor had mentioned that you two and the two young ladies in your car were there earlier today. She had mentioned that a young boy had walked into the home, and an older man in a long coat soon left. That child may be in danger."

Connor nodded.

"We are looking for the child as well. The report will be sent in a day or two."

The two entered the car, before they drove away.

* * *

"What the hell is going on?" Cyndy yelled, as Connor drove quite recklessly.

"I'm thinking. Give me a moment!" the agent yelled back.

The rest of the ride was silent. Soon when they pulled into the parking lot, they got out of the car before making their way back into the room.

"Can you both tell us what happened?" Abby yelled, as the girls followed into the room. Cyndy closed the door. Connor grabbed the snow globe from the TV stand, before sitting on the bed. He looked deep into it.

"She had the same carvings on her back as your mother," he said, looking to Cyndy.

"What do you think it means?" Schroder replied, confused.

Connor got up, before he began to mutter to himself. He paced around the room, while Cyndy and Abby cuddled up to each other at the end of the other bed. Connor almosts sounded like he was speaking in tongues.

"Perhaps the killer knew that Mrs. Townshend lived the ordeal… and proceeded to target Ms. Rosemary as a way to continue the 21 Sacraments?" he muttered to himself, before throwing the snowglobe up and down.

"Or perhaps her sacrifice was a joke… or a distraction…"

Schroder made a spot on the couch, before looking upwards. He tried to make sense to what Connor was saying.

"Cyndy, may I see that video that the unknown number sent to you?"

She handed him the phone. He looked into the video. He tied the purple dress to the original incident. He then compared the mental note he made of Ms. Rosemary's back. He pulled his phone out to compare.

"Either the copycat is really good…"

"Or it truly is Walter… and he somehow faked his own death."

"What do you propose we do?" Cyndy asked.

He handed the phone back to her. He smiled.

"Sleep. We have a lot of digging to do tomorrow."

* * *

Room 302 Surprisingly was opened by the time the group got back to South Ashfield Heights. They all found it to be rather odd. Once entering the room, they began their own investigation. Agent Connor began to take notes of the descriptions of the room. Cyndy and Abby began to inspect the bedroom. Schroder checked any storage areas to confirm if there were any items of use.

They didn't notice the door close and chain behind them.

Abby sat on the bed as Cyndy checked the phone. She pulled her phone out to notice that it had a dead signal.

"That's really odd. Abby, check your phone."

Abby pulled her phone out before confirming hers was also dead.

"I have a very bad feeling about this place," the goth said.

Cindy checked the phone next to the bed. She dialed 911.

Her heart dropped when she suddenly heard odd sounds emit from the line.

"Abby, can you hear this?" she asked, as her friend listened in. She nodded to confirm.

"They're demons."

"Demons?"

"There are spirits upon this realm."

"Gee, Abby, I never figured you were a medium," Cyndy snarked, as the goth grabbed the girl's hand. She squeezed it tight.

"I'm not."

Suddenly, the girls were called into the living area. They noticed that the door was chained up. They frantically tried to get to the windows to open them, but no such luck.

"Look for a way out," Shcroder called.

Abby encouraged Schroder to try to punch the wall, but instead he hurt his hand. Cyndy made her way into the laundry room. Nothing. She then made her way into the bathroom.

"There's a hole in the wall!" she called. The rest of the group piled into the bathroom.

"Do you think it's where your parents are?" asked Abby.

Cyndy gave her a solemn expression.


End file.
